


A Spy and a Babysitter

by JACKoatACEon



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Banter, Caretaking, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 19:17:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JACKoatACEon/pseuds/JACKoatACEon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond is home from a lengthy mission and Q finds out his job as house-sitter apparently calls for a little more than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Spy and a Babysitter

“I’m getting too old for this,” muttered James. His voice was mostly muffled by the pillow he had pressed his face into. He had finally returned home to his flat after a dreadfully-longer-than-it-should-have-been mission in a place so classified he wasn’t allowed to even _think_ of the name.

“Ah, so he finally admits it,” retorted the witty flat-sitter more formally known as Q.

Q leaned a shoulder into the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest as he observed the spy in his not-so-natural habitat. James looked like he was about to make snow angels on the bed except that he was face down. _Quite a pathetic sight for England’s best spy_ , Q mused to himself.

“You know, I haven’t eaten in two days,” James said.

Q rolled his eyes despite the fact that James couldn’t see him do so. “I assume that means you want me to make you something, hmm?”

“Well you’re here, aren’t you?”

“I was just supposed to watch your place while you were away, not nanny you.”

James rolled over to one side and propped his head up on an elbow. He gave Q the wickedest of smirks. “I’m not meaning for you to be my nanny, Q.”

Whatever hidden meaning was tucked behind that smirk of James’ fell flat on Q. He pushed himself off the door and turned on his heel towards the kitchen.

“Steak and eggs would be nice,” James called as Q walked away.

Q turned and flashed a wicked grin of his own. “Frozen dinner it is.”

James let out a disappointed groan and let his face fall to the bed once more.  “You love to torture me, don’t you?” He yelled his rhetorical question in hopes that his voice carried out into the kitchen.

Q had heard him alright. As he unboxed the frozen meal he chuckled and muttered under his breath, “Oh, yes I do.” 


End file.
